


you are safe in my bones

by harlock



Series: hell isn't where we're going, it's where we've been [3]
Category: Captain Harlock
Genre: Alternate Canon, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Smut, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 12:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14520504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlock/pseuds/harlock
Summary: If he was asked that very moment what he wanted for the rest of his days, it was this and only this.





	you are safe in my bones

**Author's Note:**

> ("kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s.")

It happens unexpectedly; the sudden press of Harlock's body against his, the hot hands slipping under his shirt to find the soft skin beneath, the mouth claiming his with so much hunger he feels dazed by the onslaught.

Yama's hands hold onto Harlock's shoulders like an anchor, because whenever he's kissed like this, he feels like he's drowning. Overwhelmed by his Captain's oft buried passions, Yama lets himself be swept away; allows Harlock to lead this particular dance in stripping him bare, littering kisses wherever he could reach as he's guided towards the nearest flat surface.

He's thankful it's the bed this time, that soft sheets greet his back when he's hoisted onto the bed and his vision is filled by Harlock's scarred face and an eye darkened by his lust.

The feel of leather against his skin is a minor shock, the cool slide of it on his heated flesh is enough to make him shiver and arch up into Harlock's wandering mouth. His attention is narrowed to the lips, teeth, and tongue marking him with abandon; in these moments it's all he knows and needs, to feel Harlock's want and hunger, to have this passion pressed into his flesh.

As layer by layer, Harlock removes his own clothes, the cloak dropping heavily to the floor, his weapons following suit, boots kicked aside and his eyepatch— Yama is the one to reach for its ties, to carefully unravel them and let it fall from his lover's face. He doesn't look away nor does he flinch whenever the terrible scarring is revealed to him, but he holds Harlock's gaze in the second before he leans up to press a kiss to his brow, and his temple, and his cheek.

Any semblance of thought is lost then. Harlock pushes him down again, kisses fire down his chest and abdomen, biting sweet pain into his hips and spreading his legs further just to pepper bites all over his inner thighs. Yama can't think, can't hold onto a coherent thought or speak an intelligible word as he's pushed towards his limits by Harlock's brutal efficiency.

Harlock knows him too well, knows every button and trigger, lavishes him with every taste of affection meant to draw the sweetest sounds from him, the quiet, hoarse pleads for more, the keening whines and softest whimpers as he's taken apart like it's a primal muscle memory.

Yama has seen him take apart his gun and clean it and put it back together; it's meticulous and careful, organized and calculated. This is something else, something old and almost forgotten that Harlock rarely lets himself indulge in.

But once Harlock has systematically shattered him, has thrown him over the edge into new depths of pleasure; that's when he finally lets go. So the moment Harlock enters him, laces their hands together above their heads just to erase every centimeter of space between their bodies, slots his hips between Yama's thighs like he was made to be there— Yama feels nothing but that euphoria.

His nails dig cruelly into the backs of Harlock's hands as he grips just as tightly, locking his legs around the older man's waist even as his back arches off the bed. He feels the tingling numbness, the pleasant thrum beneath his flesh, that high he'd never known existed until someone had been patient enough to guide him there.

The wash of warm breath on his sweat-slicked skin, lips trailing along his fluttering pulse, teeth scraping against his jugular, his collarbone, his shoulder. There's a heart beat thudding against his own, so alive and so heavy, he can feel it in his bones.

And when their peak hits, when his climax has wrung all the strength from him, it's the the collapse he indulges in, the weight of Harlock's body atop his own, the slide of skin on skin as he wraps trembling arms around Yama and simply holds him through the come-down.

There is no war to fight, no Sanction, no Legion, and no more lies to expose. They can rest, they can breathe, they can _live_. 

Yama gently combs his fingers through Harlock's damp hair, rubbing lazy circles against his scalp until the tension escapes his shoulders, and accepting every kiss after like each one is a new and precious gift.

"Where are you?" Yama whispers in the dark, cupping the face hovering above his own now, tracing a thumb across kiss-swollen lips as he waits for an answer.

Harlock relaxes against him, holding himself up by his elbows and teasing stray hairs from Yama's forehead, "Here," He says, "I'm home."

Yama smiles, open and carefree just for Harlock, "Welcome home, then."

 


End file.
